They told me Sally was a practised seducer, so it was no surprise when she made a move. Jim and I had been invited to dinner at her father’s ranch-house, a modest name for what was a vast mansion in the middle of the largest spread in south-west Texas. We’d moved down a couple of months ago, and though I’d made some friends at the school I was teaching at. It was our first proper invitation out. Jim was an accountant and had got introduced to Sally’s father, Mr Ramsden, at some business meeting.

I’d dressed up and fixed my hair the way Jim liked it. There was quite a crowd to dinner. Sally was seated down the table from me, a dark-haired beauty whom all eyes were drawn to. Half way through dinner I got up to go to the bathroom. On my way back I met Sally in the corridor. She stopped and looked at me.

‘You have such a beautiful mouth,’ she said.

I smiled, on my guard.

‘You wouldn’t let me kiss it, would you?’ she said.

‘I don’t think so,’ I replied.

She put her fingers up and traced the length of my lips.

‘I’ll never be happy till I do,’ she said, and walked away.

I hadn’t had a thing with a girl since I was at college. There had been a moment when I was seventeen and in love with Miss Thompson, my music teacher, when I thought I was gay. Nothing happened, of course, except in my imagination. Then at college I thought I better find out for real, so I let myself be talked into bed by Karen, a slim, very intense girl from Minnesota who knew exactly what to do. It was exciting at first. In college you want to try all the forbidden things. But then I met a boy, and after that another one, and I found sex with them just as good and sometimes better, and I decided I wasn’t gay after all.

When dinner was over we all went into the lounge for coffee, and I got talking to Sally’s father. I mentioned in passing that I liked to ride, and asked him what he knew of local riding stables.

‘We’ve got horses by the dozen,’ he said, ‘Ride ours.’

I assumed it was merely politeness not a serious offer, and thought no more of it. But a few days later I got a note from Sally. It said, ‘Father tells me you like to ride. Please come on Sunday at three.’

I showed it to Jim.

‘You’d be rude not to go,’ he said. ‘Anyway, why not?’

I could think of only one reason, and I wasn’t going to tell him. As Sunday approached I wondered what to wear. This was Texas, after all, where informality reigned. But then the Ramsdens were rather grand. People had certainly dressed up for their dinner party. In the end I decided to wear my riding breeches, even at the risk of being too ‘eastern’. I knew I looked good in them; Jim had told me how they showed off my bottom. He specially liked my behind, calling it pert, or peachy, or provocative, depending on his mood. Just lately we’d been experimenting and he’d done things to my bottom I never thought I’d let any man do, but that’s another story.

When I drove up to the Ramsden mansion Sally was already waiting on the porch. She wore jeans, though I noted they had a designer label. On top she wore a sleeveless denim jacket, cut tight, with several buttons undone so that I could see the hollow between her breasts. I felt over-dressed in a crisp white cotton blouse on top of my riding breeches. At least I was wearing Texas boots, a new pair I’d bought that week.

We strode over to the stables. She let me walk in front. I knew why; she wanted to see my ass in the tight breeches. When we got inside she looked down at them.

‘Very smart,’ she said. ‘They suit you.’

I just smiled politely. Actually I’d already noticed she had a pretty cute ass herself, its firm shape outlined by the tight jeans she wore. She was good-looking, there was no doubt about that. She had long black hair, which she had put up under her stetson. Her eyes were big and deep, her lips full and sensual. I liked her nose, the way it turned up slightly at the end.

Two horses were already saddled. Sally reached up to make an adjustment on one and I saw her bare midriff and her navel between the jeans and denim top. The sight gave me a sudden frisson, quite against my expectation. What’s the matter with you? I thought.

Sally led the horses out. We mounted and rode off across the open range. It was pretty country, with undulating hills and little oak trees dotted about. Puffy blue clouds sailed across the azure sky. We rode for half an hour, then dismounted and sat under a tree. Sally asked me questions about myself, about my work, my family, about Jim. I replied cautiously, making sure she realised I was happily married. I asked her about herself. She was quite open. Yes, she had lots of girlfriends. She’d had boyfriends too, had nothing against men, but mostly just preferred girls. She made it sound so normal, as if she was discussing a preference for seafood over steak.

We got back on our horses and rode home. We unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down. Sally asked me if I’d like a shower before going home. Somewhat awkwardly I declined. I could tell she was amused, that she knew I was afraid she would make a pass at me.

‘I’ve enjoyed it so much,’ she said. ‘You will come again next week, won’t you?’

She offered her hand. I shook it quickly and muttered something about seeing her next week. As the days passed I found I was counting down to Sunday. Why? I asked myself. Yes, I liked riding. Perhaps it was that, new to the area, I needed a friend. Yes, that was it.

When the day came I dressed Texas-style, jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt, my new boots and a stetson. Once again we set off across the open countryside. It was a blistering hot day. After twenty minutes I could feel the sweat trickling down the hollow between my breasts, could feel it running into my navel. Sally had led us in a different direction from the week before. In the distance I could see a dip surrounded by a clump of trees. As we got nearer I glimpsed water.

Sally dismounted and tied her horse to a tree.

‘My favourite place,’ she said.

It was an idyllic spot. Inside a circle of cottonwood tress lay a pool of clear water about twenty yards across. The banks were covered in thick green grass.

‘Last one in is a sissy,’ Sally laughed.

She stripped off her shirt, then her bra.

‘Help me with my boots,’ she said, sitting on a log. I took hold of her upraised boot, trying not to look at her breasts. When I’d got her boots off she stood up and unzipped her jeans. She saw me looking out between the trees.

‘There’s no one about,’ she said. ‘It’s Sunday. The hands are all in town getting drunk.’

Her jeans were off. As she bent to pull down her white cotton knickers I stole a look. She had a neat round bottom and slender but shapely thighs. As she stood up, naked now, she caught me looking at her breasts, with their small aureoles but long dark nipples, erect already. I blushed slightly and busied myself with my own clothing. By the time I had got my shirt off Sally was walking into the water, her arms wrapped around her chest. I looked again at her behind, admiring the perfection of the two buttocks, each with a dimple at the top.

I felt I’d been out-manoeuvred. Not to have joined Sally in the pool would brand me a prude and kill-joy. Yet to be naked was to be vulnerable, complicit even. If she wanted to kiss me this time, would I not appear an old-fashioned puritan?

Why must you analyse everything? I said to myself. It’s a hot day. There’s some cool water. Jump in it. In a moment I was naked too, feeling the water rising up my legs. It was colder than I expected, but it felt delightful on my over-heated body. There were goose-pimples on my skin and my nipples had become so erect they were almost painful. I plunged forward, immersing myself. I swam under water for a few strokes, then surfaced, wiping the water from my face. Sally was only a few feet away, treading water. I could see her naked breasts, now above the surface, now below as she bobbed up and down.

We swam around for a while, then Sally got out. From the pool I watched her once more as she walked out of the water, her bottom emerging into the sunlight. She moved with an easy grace and I admired the muscles flexing beneath the flawless white skin, the buttocks alternately clenching and relaxing as she strode up the bank.

I followed her out, trying to look unconcerned at her frank and open gaze at my naked body as I got closer. Sally was lying full length on the grass, propped up on an elbow. I sat down at a distance I carefully calculated as too far away to allow contact, but not so far as to be unfriendly. I allowed myself a quick glance at the centre of her body, the broad flat stomach, taut and lean, the thicket of dark hair below, tiny drops of water in it shining like diamonds. Then I let my eyes drop again.

Sally lay back, her eyes closed. Now I could look openly. There was a litheness about her that stirred something in me, something I thought was buried for ever. Her breasts, though flattened as she lay on her back, were larger than you would expect in someone of her build. Despite the hot sun, the nipples were still erect. I could see the outline of her rib cage as she stretched back, and the broad expanse of her belly, glimpsed earlier but now open to a fuller scrutiny. It was flat, yet subtly sculptured, rising slightly towards the navel, which I looked at closely. It was different from mine, which is deeply recessed, all but invisible in its little hollow. Sally’s was a knot that stood out proud, almost like an erection. I wanted to put my finger on it, roll it around. One leg, the one on the far side, was raised slightly, but I could not see her sex, hidden as it was by the thick black curls of her pubic hair. I imagined my hand sliding along the smooth skin of her upper thigh, slipping between her legs, foraging in the clump of wiry curls to find the sweetness hidden within. I shivered, despite the heat. Then she opened her eyes and I looked away.

‘Shall we ride some more?’ she said.

I knew she had caught me looking at her naked. I began to feel a hypocrite, stealing prurient looks while maintaining a front of purity. Sally, on the other hand, was being a model of good manners. It was clear enough she found me attractive. But I’d given her no encouragement and so she was respecting my preferences, not making an advance.

As we got dressed I started a conversation, something mundane about how I preferred western saddles.

‘It’s good to have something to hold on to,’ I said, meaning the pommel at the front.

Sally gave a throaty laugh.

‘I’ll say,’ she said.

As we shook hands and parted back at the stables, she looked at me anxiously.

‘You will come again, won’t you?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ I said. Surely I was safe enough now. She’d seen me naked yet not laid a finger on me.

The next week I found myself waiting even more eagerly for Sunday. I told myself it was good to have a friend. The hot weather had held and as we rode out Sally asked if I’d care to go swimming again.

‘Sure,’ I said with enthusiasm.

This time I stripped off with little self-consciousness. We swam around, then lay on our backs feeling the sun through the water. At one point we drifted together; I felt Sally’s hand brush my leg and I pulled away. But it was accidental. Back on the grassy bank we lay and let the sun dry our bodies. I felt good, relaxed, more at ease than before.

‘Did you ever ride naked?’ Sally said suddenly.

‘What?’ I answered, stalling. I didn’t know how to respond.

‘It’s a wonderful feeling,’ she said. ‘Even better than swimming naked.’

‘And even more chance of being seen,’ I said with a smile, trying to laugh off her suggestion.

‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s never anyone on Sundays. Anyway, all this around is my daddy’s land. They’d never dare say anything.’

She stood up and walked towards her horse. I watched as she loosened the tether, then swung up into the saddle. She sat waiting for me. I felt she was daring me. I got up and walked slowly to my horse. I could smell its sweat strongly; it was as if being naked made my senses keener. I put my bare foot in the stirrup and pulled myself up. The leather of the saddle was warm between my thighs. I shifted position and felt it press against my sex. Sally wheeled her horse and trotted off across the range. I kicked my horse’s side and made after her. The saddle beat against my crotch as the horse trotted. I’d heard of women who can orgasm just from being in the saddle. It had always seemed improbable until this moment. It was a wonderful sensation, the horse up to a canter now, the air blowing over my naked skin, my thighs gripping hard, the thump of the leather against my sex. My breasts were bouncing, but not uncomfortably, just enough to make me feel them.

Sally had got up to a gallop now and I kicked my horse harder to make it catch up. Once you’re galloping you are up from the saddle and I didn’t have the leather pounding between my legs, but my thighs were gripping harder, the wind was blowing through my hair and across my breasts and belly. It was madly exhilarating, the sheer physicality of it. The Sally pulled her horse up and dismounted. She bent and looked at the horse’s hoof.

‘I think she’s a bit lame, poor thing,’ she said.

She felt the horse’s leg.

‘I’ll have to walk her back,’ she said.

She turned and started to walk across the rough ground. There were sharp stones everywhere.

‘You can’t walk on that in bare feet,’ I said. ‘Get up behind me.’

I reached down and drew Sally up behind me. She put her arms around my waist. My horse walked slowly forward. I could feel Sally moving against me with the rhythm of the horse. I could feel her breasts against my back, her hair on my shoulder. Her belly pressed against my buttocks. On an impulse I raised myself slightly on the stirrups, took Sally’s right hand and put it between my legs. I let myself down again, trapping her hand between my crotch and the leather saddle. At each step of the horse her hand pressed harder into me. She moved her left hand up to my right breast, cupping it in her palm then caressing it, stroking the nipple, pinching it between finger and thumb. I pressed my hand down on hers, pushing it even harder against my crotch. Sally kissed me on the side of the neck, then she put her tongue in my ear. I go half insane when someone does that. Then Sally dug her fingers up inside me. My hips began to shake. I gripped the horse tightly with my thighs. Convulsions shook me. I cried out.

As my climax subsided I saw we were back at the pool. We dismounted from the horse and fell into one another’s arms. Our mouths locked together, our tongues slithering across each other like two eels mating. We dropped on to the grass. I kissed Sally’s breasts, taking each nipple in turn into my mouth, sucking hard. I stroked her belly and thighs. Sally put my hand between her legs. She took my middle finger and placed it carefully alongside her clitoris. I could feel the swollen little bud, slippery already. She showed me how she wanted it done, just rubbing on one side, not too hard, not too fast. I continued sucking her breasts as I did so. It didn’t take her long to come. She cried out, some strange words I couldn’t make out.

We lay in each others’ arms, stroking and kissing gently. Then Sally sat up. I lay back, my arms behind my head, my thighs apart, shameless. I watched Sally’s eyes travel down my body, coming to rest between my legs.

‘You have a beautiful cunt,’ she said.

I thought of all the men who’d ever paid me compliments, all the things they’d said in praise of my eyes, my breasts, my ass, my legs. Yet never a word about the chief object of their desires. She put her hand out, pressing her palm against my mound. She took it away and replaced it with her mouth, brushing lightly against the lips of my sex, feathery kisses up and down. She started to lick me, her tongue sliding up and down the outside of my labia. Then she took one of them between her lips, tugging on it, sucking it into her mouth. She repeated this with the other side. She slipped her tongue between my labia, licking up and down and pushing the tip inside me. I opened my legs wider to let it in as far as I could.

At last she licked upwards and found my clitoris. With one hand she pulled the hood upwards, exposing the tender stalk beneath. I flinched then sighed with delight as her tongue circled it. She experimented with different movements, trying to find out which I liked best. No man had ever been as considerate or as inventive. Maybe, I thought, you have to have a cunt of your own to know how to kiss one. By dint of little grunts of pleasure I let her know the precise movement I favoured, a kind of circling round and round the swollen little bud. As she licked she pushed a finger inside me. I made another sound to indicate my satisfaction. Sally pushed another finger in, then a third. It felt wonderful to be filled all the while that her tongue swivelled round my clitoris. Instinctively she seemed to have found just the right speed, enough to guarantee I’d get there soon, not too fast to make it prematurely; I was greedy and wanted it to last. All too soon I came.

We dressed and Sally rode behind me back to the stables. It was good to feel her arms around me. We didn’t speak much, but she kissed me on the mouth when we said goodbye.

‘I guess I can be happy now,’ she said.

When I got back Jim was sitting in an armchair reading a book. I sat on his lap and kissed him, pushing my tongue between his lips. I opened his shirt and felt his nipples, pinching them lightly, twisting a little, then digging in my nails the way he liked it. I felt him get hard. I stood up and took his hand.

‘Come and fuck me,’ I said.

I led him into the bedroom. I pulled my jeans and knickers down to my knees and knelt on the edge of the bed, my face pressed into the bedclothes, my ass raised in the air. I think I wanted reassurance, that I still wanted a man. But mostly it was sexual greed.

‘Do it hard,’ I said.

He did. He rammed it in up to the hilt and fucked vigorously without stopping till he came. We collapsed in a heap on the bed.

‘What was that all about?’ he muttered in my ear. He must have felt how wet I was when he entered me.

‘Horse riding,’ I said. ‘It can do that to a girl.’

Two days later Sally called to say she was going back to her expensive college in the east. She said she’d write, and after a while I got a couple of letters, but they were oddly impersonal, full of anecdotes about college life. She didn’t come back at Christmas. Mr Ramsden told me she’d gone to Europe. In fact I didn’t see her again till the summer. She was parked outside the drugstore on Main Street. Sitting in the passenger seat of her white convertible was a young woman, exquisitely pretty.

‘This is Giselle,’ said Sally. ‘She’s from Paris. I’m going to teach her how to ride.’

‘You’ll both enjoy that,’ I said with an enigmatic smile.